Life as We Knew It (14 page)

"I still don't get how that's going to affect us," I said. "You said there are no volcanoes here. Have lots of people died?"

"Lots," Matt said. "And lots more are going to. And not just people who live near volcanoes, either."

"Matt," Mom said, and she put her hand on his arm. I think that scared me most of all. Matt's done nothing but comfort me since he got home, and now he needed Mom to comfort him.

"Look outside," Matt said. "Just look at that sky."

So I did. It was that funny shade of gray.

"When a large enough volcano erupts, it clouds the sky," Matt said. "Not just a mile away and not just a hundred miles away. Thousands of miles away, and not just for a day or two, either."

"The concern is that the volcanic ash will cover the sun most places on earth," Mom said. "Like it seems to be doing already here. And if it lasts long enough ..."

"Crops," Matt said. "No sunlight, no crops. Nothing grows without sunlight."

"Oh, Mom," I said. "Not the vegetable garden? How can that be? We're nowhere near a volcano. I'm sure we'll get the sun back."

"They're starting to issue warnings," Mom said. "The scientists on the radio. They say we should be prepared for major climatic changes. Drought's a real possibility, and record cold temperatures. It's already cooling off here. It was eighty-eight when I went to bed last night, and it's seventy-two now. But feel how muggy it is. It hasn't cooled off because of a thunderstorm. It's cooled off because the sunlight can't penetrate the ash in the sky."

"But it can't last all that long," I said. "A week? A month? Is there something we can do to keep the garden growing?"

Mom took a deep breath. "I think we have to assume it's going to last longer than that," she said. "And we should prepare for the worst, very little sunlight, very weak sunlight for several months. A year, maybe longer."

"Longer?" I asked, and I could hear the hysteria in my voice. "Longer than a year? Why? Where's the nearest volcano? What the hell is going on?"

"There's a volcano at Yellowstone," she said. "It erupted yesterday. Phoenix and Las Vegas are drowning in ash."

"Las Vegas?" I said. "Is Grandma okay?"

"There's no way of knowing," Matt said.

I pictured Springfield, my Springfield, with its food and its electricity. "Are things better east of us?" I asked.

"Miranda, this isn't a local problem," Mom said. "It's not just one volcano. A half dozen erupted yesterday alone. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Wind currents will affect things and no one can predict the wind. Maybe we'll be lucky. Maybe something good will happen that we can't imagine just now. But we have to prepare for the worst. You and I and Matt and Jonny have to prepare for the worst. We have to assume frosts in August. We have to assume no power and no food coming in and no gas for the car and no oil for the furnace. Up till now we've been playacting survival, but from now on we have to take it seriously."

"Playacting!" I cried. "You think this has all been a game to me?"

"Look," Matt said, and I couldn't tell which one of us he was trying to calm down. "The smartest thing we can do is assume things are going to get a lot worse. Mom and I were talking about precautions we can take now so that if it's a rough winter, we'll be in better shape."

"Like eating less," I said. "Because we can't be sure of the garden."

Matt nodded. "I'm not crazy about the idea, either," he said. "But we do have to discuss the possibility."

"I can cut down to one meal a day," Mom said. "I'm too upset to be hungry these days, anyway. But I don't want you kids doing that. Not unless we really have to."

"Maybe we could fast one day a week," I suggested. "Or I could skip brunch, say, every other day."

"Those both sound like good ideas," Matt said. "I could eat breakfast Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and Miranda could eat brunch Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and we could both fast on Sundays.

But Mom, if you're eating only one meal a day, you really shouldn't fast."

Mom looked like she was going to cry. "I'll be fine," she said instead. "I think we need to store up as much water as we possibly can. As long as we have running water, we might as well use it, but we need to conserve as much as possible."

"The well might run dry?" I asked.

"It's a possibility," Matt said. "Any water we don't use now could come in handy six months from now."

"I'm also concerned whatever rain we get will be polluted," Mom said. "We should boil our drinking water from now on. We've never had any problems with our well water, but if the air is badly polluted, we shouldn't take chances."

"What about the pond?" I asked. "I can keep swimming, can't I?"

"I think so," Mom said. "For the time being. Of course if the temperature really plummets, it might get too cold."

"It's July," I said. "How cold can it get?"

"That's what we don't know." Matt said. "But I guess we're going to find out."

Just to prove everybody wrong, Mom and Matt and all the scientists, I went swimming this morning. Only two other people showed up, and none of us stayed very long.

Even though I knew the water was just as clean as it had been yesterday, I still felt dirty when I got out of the pond. It wasn't cold outside, but it was so clammy that I couldn't stop shivering. Just yesterday I'd been wishing things would cool off, and now that they have, I miss heat so much. I even miss seeing the moon.

Today's a Saturday, so I ate brunch. Tomorrow we'll fast. I wonder how that will be, but I guess we'll get used to it.

I hope Grandma's okay.

I guess the lists of the dead are about to get a lot longer.

Chapter Eight

July 11

Mom changed the rules so I can eat brunch on Mondays. She says it isn't fair for me to fast on Sundays and then not eat until Monday night. Of course she isn't eating until Monday night, but we're not supposed to notice.

Fasting wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I got real hungry around lunchtime, but it wore off as the day went along. I guess I'll get used to it.

It's hard to be sure, but I think things are getting grayer.

Peter dropped by this afternoon. We told him our plans and he thought they were good ones. He especially approved of boiling the drinking water.

I asked him about swimming.

"It's probably better if you stopped," he said. "The people with town water are telling me it's discolored and there are concerns about how much longer it's going to last. All that takes electricity, and we know how well the power plants are working these days."

"But what does that have to do with the pond?" I asked.

"It's hard to predict what people will do if they don't have running water," Peter said. "They might start taking their dirty clothes to the pond to wash them there. Or they might start bathing there. There's a possibility the pond will become a breeding ground. Nowadays it's better to be safe than sorry."

At least he didn't list the symptoms of cholera. That, for Peter, showed real restraint.

I think I'll go swimming tomorrow, anyway. Maybe Dan will show up. Maybe the sun will shine.

July 12

No Dan. No sun. No electricity. No word from Jonny or Dad.

July 13

Matt's stopped running. It took me five days to realize that. I finally asked and he said he'd stopped on Saturday, partly because he's worried about air quality and partly to conserve strength.

The days seem a lot shorter than just a week ago. At least it's getting darker sooner. Mom lets us use one of the oil lamps in the sunroom every evening. It doesn't cast enough light for all of us to read, so Matt and I take turns sitting near it. Mom found a bag of old yarn in the attic and she's crocheting at night, so she doesn't need much light.

I'm using the flashlight to write this now. I know I should stop. Batteries don't last forever.

July 14

I did something so stupid today. I could kill myself, I'm so angry and upset.

We were sitting around this evening, doing our let's-share-the-dim-light routine, and around 9 Mom announced we'd used up enough oil for one night and we should go to bed.

We've been on a sunrise to sunset pattern for a while now, but with that horrible gray covering over the sun, our timing is off. You can still tell if the sun is up, but there are no dramatic changes. Gray at 6 AM, gray at 6 PM.

And I don't know why, but I just didn't feel like going to bed. Maybe it's the nightmares I've been having the past couple of days. Becky pushing me into a volcano, stuff like that.

I said I was going to sit on the porch before going to bed, and since sitting on the porch doesn't use up any energy, Mom had no reason to say no. So I went out onto the porch and sat there for a while, maybe half an hour. Certainly long enough that when I went back in, Mom and Matt were already in their rooms.

Only when I decided to go in, I forgot about Horton. Horton goes outside in the daytime, but we're not allowed to let him out anytime after sunset. Even when we had electricity, that was the rule. Horton stays in at night.

I guess Horton's as confused about what's day and what's night as the rest of us. He raced out as soon as I opened the door.

I went back out and called for him, but he wasn't interested. I stayed on the porch for an extra hour, calling for him, and hoping he'd come back on his own, but there's no sign of him.

I'd better not use up any more flashlight battery. I just hope he's on the doorstep, complaining about being forced to spend the night outside, when I get up tomorrow.

July 15

No Horton.

I alternated between gathering kindling and looking for him. Mom and Matt searched also, but none of us saw him.

Mom says I shouldn't feel bad, that it could have happened with any of us, but I know it's my fault. I am so careless. I've always gotten into trouble because I'm careless, but most of the time I've only hurt myself.

I don't know what Jonny will do if he gets home and Horton isn't back.

July 16

Still no sign of Horton.

Mom and I had a big fight.

"We haven't heard a word from Jonny in two weeks! And all you can think of us that damned cat."

"Jonny's fine!" I yelled right back at her. "Jonny's eating three meals a day. You waited until he left before you put us on our starvation diets. You think I didn't notice that? You think I don't know which one of us you're betting on?"

I still don't believe I said that. The thought's crossed my mind, but I haven't even written it here, it's so horrible. What if Mom truly believes only one of us is likely to make it? I know she wouldn't choose herself.

But would she really pick between Matt and Jonny and me! Will a point come where she asks two of us to give our food to the third?

The thing is I know if it comes to that, Matt wouldn't take the food. And Mom's got to know that also. And when I do think about this, and I try so hard not to, I think Mom guesses I couldn't make it on my own, that no female could.

Which leaves Jonny.

I hate thinking like this. I hate myself for being so upset about Horton that I took it out on Mom. I hate being so selfish that it never even occurred to me Mom was worried about not hearing from Jonny.

I've stopped worrying about not hearing from Dad. I just imagine a month away from here, from Mom. A month in Springfield where for some reason the sun shines brightly and the electricity works all the time and I'm never hungry.

July 17

Three days and none of us have caught a glimpse of Horton.

Even Mrs. Nesbitt's been looking, since Horton sometimes wanders down to her house. She thought maybe she saw him yesterday, but she isn't sure, and Matt says we shouldn't assume she really did.

"People see what they want to see," he said.

Mom and I haven't talked since our horrible fight yesterday, which makes suppertime even more fun. After supper, I go searching for Horton until it's too dark to see anything, let alone a gray tabby. Then I sit on the porch and will him to come home.

Matt came out on the porch. "Horton might show up tonight," he said. "But we'd better start dealing with the possibility he isn't coming back."

"I think he's going to," I said. "I think he just went searching for Jonny. When he gets hungry enough, he'll come back. It isn't like anyone else is going to feed him."

Even in the gloomy darkness, I could see Matt's expression. I've gotten to know it so well lately. It's that How-Am-I-Going-to-Tell-Her-This-One look.

"You know we're in pretty good shape," he said. "Compared to a lot of other people we're doing fine."

That's how he does it. He kind of slides into it. Breaks it to me gently. Points out how fabulous our life is before he sticks the knife in.

"Just say it," I demanded.

"It's possible Horton's been killed," Matt said. "For food."

I thought I was going to be sick. I don't know why that hadn't occurred to me. Maybe because until a couple of months ago, I didn't live in a world where pets were regarded as food.

"Look," Matt said. "We've all let Horton out. If someone wanted to catch him for whatever reason, they'd have plenty of chances. All you did was let him out at night. You're not at fault. No one is."

But I am, and he knows it, and Mom knows it, and Jonny'll know it, and most of all I know it. If Horton's dead, if he's been killed, I'm the one responsible.

I really don't deserve to live. Not because of Horton, but if there is only so much food left, I haven't done anything to earn it. What do I do? Gather kindling? What kind of contribution is that?

I hate Sundays. Everything is worse on Sundays.

July 18

Monday.

I stayed out all day, searching, and gathering kindling.

I fell asleep in the woods this afternoon, just collapsed into sleep. The mosquitoes must have loved me. I have half a dozen bites I don't remember from this morning.

I got in around 4 and Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen.

"Did you eat today?" she asked. "I didn't see you come in and eat."